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Emmett Greene stood there, hands on hips. Two guards, a man and a woman, stood either side of the short man, dwarfing the short man. “How nice to see you again.” The alarm had stopped, either through my incompetence, the timer running out, or someone had turned it off. I wasn’t sure and it wasn’t important right now.
“I... er...” They hadn’t seen Regan, or at least they hadn’t seen him yet. “I’m just...”
“Honestly, Jack, I thought you’d know better,” said the cult leader. “I know I wanted to arrange a meeting but not like this.” He was dressed in a plain white suit, and I wondered whether he’d slept in the damn thing or taken the time to change out of his pyjamas. “Breaking and entering? And setting off a fire alarm when there’s no fire is against the law, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I said. I should’ve run while I had the chance. “I was just being a good citizen by making sure everyone was out of the building.”
“In that case, I’m sure you,” he nodded to Regan, who’d appeared in the doorway. Damn, “and your accomplice wouldn’t mind staying around for a little longer. My guards have a couple of questions for you both.”
Regan looked at me; he didn’t know what to do. We should’ve run.
“We’ve got nothing to hide.” I waved my ‘accomplice’ to my side. “We were in the area and were concerned.”
“Yes, I’m sure you were,” said Greene. He clicked his fingers and his two guards darted to either side of me and Regan. “I don’t know about you, Jack, but I would rather not get the police involved with this matter. How about we have a little discussion in my office instead? You can tell me all about your current case. I’m also rather interested in what you know about Augustus Smith, and I want to know everything about that accident you had with that transdimensional conduit.”
“I bet,” said Regan.
I nudged him with my elbow, a signal to goddamned shut up.
“Ah yes,” said our captor. “I imagine your mother has told you some interesting rumours and porky pies about me and my Church, yes?” He clasped his hands together and grinned. “I assure you that most of it isn’t true.”
“What about the fact that you’re harbouring a killer?”
“Shut it!” I hissed. This wasn’t the time for accusations; we needed evidence, not damned conversation.
“You have me at a disadvantage, Mr Regan Bex,” said Greene. “But don’t think I didn’t know who you were when you joined my Church. Don’t look surprised. I always make it a point to know the family members of my biggest contributors. You only saw what I allowed you to see, like the file I have on our mutual friend here.” He nodded to me. “I’m a big fan of his work.” He turned back to face Regan. “There is no conspiracy, Mr Bex.” He sighed. “At least, not the conspiracy you think.”
“Does this have something to do with the missing Delartes?” Regan really didn’t know when to shut up; he was laying out all our cards. “The Call of Narcissus.” I was a little ashamed that I’d almost forgotten the name of that hideous statue; I’d focused a little too hard on trying to forget what it looked like. “Did you steal it?” I wanted to grab him and shake him to keep his mouth shut.
“What? I didn’t even know it was missing.” The man’s response did tell me something; he seemed genuine in his surprise that it was gone, surprise that didn’t allow me to connect the dots from Queenie’s case to the Church. At least, not from Greene. “It wasn’t too long ago that I was admiring that masterpiece in a little gallery in Sector Three. That’s where we had our little chat, Jack, right?”
I nodded and wondered where this was going.
“We had a brief discussion about Augustus Smith.”
I nodded again. The way he said the name made it sound like the Emerald Killer was some kind of godlike saviour. Creepy.
“I think you and I could collaborate on something of great importance, Jack. But” Greene faked a yawn, “it’s late. I’ll arrange some accommodation for you and your... friend. We will talk in the morning.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. This didn’t feel right. “I’d rather we both left, and I return in the morning. Alone. I’ll be happy to discuss my old cases with you nice and early... tomorrow.” We really should’ve run before it was too late.
“That would be unacceptable,” said Emmett Greene. “I insist you spend the night. Or do I have to get the police involved?”
“Let me go!” said Regan. He shook himself free of a large hand that had wrapped itself around his arm. “You don’t have any proof of any wrongdoing! We’re leaving!”
“He’s right,” I said. “You don’t have any goddamned legal precedence for holding us here.” I took a step back and my own guard moved a little closer to me.
“You’re correct, of course, Jack,” said the man opposite. “But there are other ways I could persuade you.”
“Was that a threat?!” Regan was getting angry, and this situation was running the risk of escalating out of control. “Why the interest in Augustus Smith? Do you know who attacked my mother?” He moved forward, closer to Greene. “Almost killed her?!” We were supposed to be leaving, goddammit. “Was it your fault?! Was it?!”
“The news said it was the copycat killer.” He grinned a toothy smile.
Regan sighed. “You know the truth, Mr Greene,” he said. “And we need answers; you have them.” He tried to move even closer to the cult leader, but the guard’s hand wrapped around his elbow and pulled him back. It was sudden and abrupt, and Regan almost fell against the bigger person. He ripped himself away. “I said, let me go!”
“Jack,” said Greene, “please control your friend.”
“I...”
There was a click.
Regan had cocked a gun, aimed at the guard who’d grabbed him.
Damn it.
I didn’t even know he’d come armed. Where had he got a damned gun from? Had he brought one to Tribeca with him?
Goddammit.
He swung the weapon, targeting Emmett Greene and then back to the guard. He stepped away, swinging back and forth, unable to decide on who to focus on. Back and forth. Back and forth. This was going to end in tears. No. Not tears. Blood.
Greene held up his hands in a pose of surrender; he wore a disconcerting half smile, almost as if this situation were amusing to him.
This was not goddamned funny.
“I told you!” Regan screamed out. “I told you to let me go! Come on, Jack, we’re...”
His guard charged at him, tackling the man to the ground and knocking the gun from his hands. It clattered against the tiled floor. Regan grunted and cried out in pain as he collided with the floor, guard atop of him.
Damn it.
Damn.
“Regan...” My own guard grabbed my arm, as I stepped toward my associate, to stop my intervention. He tugged on me, and I leant back into it, pushed against him, shoved; it was enough to throw his balance. I twisted around, his arm still grabbing mine and pulled him toward me. He stumbled and I kicked out hard. Probably a little too hard. He grunted and grabbed his genitals before collapsing onto his knees. The guard was winded, eyes watering, agony on his face. I felt a little sorry for him, but not really.
I darted to Regan, who was still struggling with his own guard, and pulled on his captor’s shirt. She tipped back. She looked surprised as I swung a fist at her, but my actions had the required effect; she crumpled and fell from my punch, collapsing backward against my partner. Regan pushed her body as I pulled her away and helped him up.
“We need to leave,” I said. “Now.”
I glanced over to Greene who was still standing there, waiting, arms crossed, still bearing a slight grin. He seemed unfazed by this little kerfuffle. “Jack,” he warned. By his tone and his measured voice, he was considering this nothing but a little challenge to get me to stay one way or another.
Regan shot a sideways glance to our host, and I could see worry on his face.
“Oh.” Our way of escape, the front entrance, was blocked by the returning cultists, who seemed to have formed a barrier along the opening.
Damn it.
And there were guards too. Several burly figures carefully spaced themselves about the foyer, creeping around to trap us and protect their leader.
Goddammit.
We were trapped, surrounded by multiple muscular persons, and it reminded me of a dream I had once had, a good dream. I wish this were that same dream, but these paragons of the physical were armed and certainly wore more clothing; their guns cocked in symphony and the dream turned sour. We were damned outgunned and outmatched.
“It seems,” said Emmett Greene, “that your options are rather limited, Jack.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.” I glanced to my partner in crime; he was worried. “I’ll tell you what,” I said, “you call off your dogs,” I gestured to the guards around us, “and I’ll happily come and ‘chat’ with you.”
“I think it might be a little late for that sort of thing, don’t you?”
“So, what now? Are you going to call the cops on us?”
“I haven’t decided.” The man clicked his fingers and arms embraced me, pulling my arms back and tying them behind me; it felt like a plastic cable tie, something notoriously difficult to escape from. I looked to Regan who’d undergone a similar experience to me. We’d been pinned to the spot, each with a beefy guard holding each arm. “I think I’ll have you stay the night. I’ll make up my mind about what do with you after I’ve had a good night’s sleep.” He glanced at his watch. “It is rather late after all.”
“Kidnapping is illegal,” said Regan.
“So is breaking and entering, Mr Bex,” said Greene. “You also threatened me with a gun and put my life at risk. Threatened me.” He clasped his hands together and grinned. “You also seem to be forgetting who has the advantage right now.” The pair of us were pushed, pulled forward and closer to the cult leader. “Hold them tight,” he said. I was close enough to the man to smell his aftershave, feel his breath. His grin grew wider. “In fact, I’ve always had the advantage.”
“How so?” I tried to move, shake myself free but strapping hands gripped me tight, too tight; there was no chance of escape.”
“Because, Jack,” said Emmett Greene, “My real name is Augustus Smith.”